Tell Me What I Have To Do?
by GenX-Revolution
Summary: Las Vegas Heat, Guns and Green Eyes. AU on smack. Established HP/DM. SLASH.SLASH. Oneshot


**TITLE**: Tell Me What I have to do?

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nada.

**SUMMARY:** Las Vegas Heat, Guns and Green Eyes. AU on smack. Established HP/DM. Oneshot

_At this point in time, all my fics are obsolete. They are in theory done, getting the kinks out is a whole different story. But, yeah 'nuff of my drabble. Don't bother reading the other, unless you want to be brain damaged._

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_"I hereby sentence you to life in prison without parole for the first degree murder of Tom Riddle, Peter Pettigrew. Second degree of Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange..."_

Funny how the justice systems worked worldwide- it's completely bullshit. We were caught in western American; Nevada to be accurate. We were somewhere near Hayford Peak and a few miles north out of Las Vegas as we were facing one another in a Mexican standoff.  
Ron; my best friend from the moment I hit him on the head in the park somewhere in Surrey, had his hair styled in shoulder-length dreadlocks and his fair skin was now tanned to a golden hue.  
His cornflower blue eyes were possibly narrowed behind his dark alien shades as he pointed the Chinese AK -47 in a defensive stance; long legs spread apart. The weapon was perpendicular to his narrow waist. His dark bulky clothing covered his well-muscled body, but more importantly the knives that were hidden in his vest, just slightly to the left of his heart.

On his left, stood Dean Thomas. His shaved head shined from the culminating sweat in the Nevada desert and dressed in a similar manner to Ron's swat outfit - without the bullet proof vest. Strap to his back was the long range sniper rifle and in his two hands pointed, straight at the five before us at eye level, were two coal-black .45's.

On my right was Blaise Zabini, dressed in dark jeans, and a leather brown jacket with a concealed vest. His jet black hair was smooth back with an abundance of gel that captured the sun and held the illusion that he came out of the shower. His once pasty skin, now tanned to a similar glow of Ron's skin. I once thought that they were related because of the amount of whining I had to endure from their once sun-burned skin in a similar circumstance.  
His left arm was in a sling but that didn't deter him from coming with us today. His dark blue eyes were glacier and it brought the metaphorical heat down a notch.  
I, on the other hand dressed in our similar rationed dark cargo pants with weapons strapped in my left boot, a dagger on my right side tucked neatly under the vest in my back.  
Because of the unbearable heat and in my haste from the run down hotel from earlier, I barely manage to snag a black wife beater and my standard weapons of a similar machine gun to Ron's AK, a shotgun strapped to my back and a hidden derringer that was nicely concealed around my right thigh.  
Across from us, was our counterparts. From right to left in agent/mafia- styled business suits was Theodore Nott, Cornelius Fudge, Argus Filch, Viktor Krum and in the middle of our adversaries stood Igor Karkaroff.

It seemed that the heat didn't bother them. In fact there was an ever lasting shadow that hung over them. They seemed more ominous in the near evening sun as the mountain cast a shadow over them, missing us by a couple of feet.  
They all held standard machine guns and those were the only weapons that were visible. I bet my millions that there were more securely hidden. After all, you don't met your enemy unarmed - not even for a truce.  
"Really, sending the _geek squad_. Dumbledore must have become really pathetic in the last couple of years." Fudge scoffed.  
"Dumbledore didn't send us. This is off record." I coldly replied, my green eyes glaring at Karkaroff.  
"How considerate Potter." He snared. "Did you bring what we asked?"  
"Prisoner first, questions later." I tonelessly replied as we had a stare-down.

I supposed he figured that we were going to ask that because a sixth figure to their death squad came from behind a vehicle with the prisoner; a walking, heap of muscles dressed in black jeans and a tank top that had seen better days.  
The prisoner on the other hand, had his hands tied securely behind his back, a black bag covered his head and for the rest, there was nothing except for a few visible bruises on his ivory skin that made my blood boil and give my finger an itch.

"We had a little fun with the product." Viktor smirked as the unknown brute pushed the prisoner roughly to his bare knees, skins scraped the ground harshly, into the middle of our little gathering.  
I didn't say anything for a moment as I gave a nod to Ron and seconds later, Ron threw a disk at the so-called leader as Blaise gently coaxed the young man back to a standing position.

"I wish I could be there, to relish the lashing you will receive Potter." Karkaroff evilly grinned as his dark eyes clouded with something that could only be found on a psychopath. "I regret not capturing our delicious treat earlier. I wonder what we could have held out for.."

"Turn around and head back to the shit hole you crawled out from." I snarled, my weapons still trained at the group.  
Karkaroff gave one insane laughter before he turned around and with one last glare, so did his goons.  
I really wanted to pull the trigger on my auto and take them out right there, but for the sake of the team and Dumbledore I held onto my sanity.

Until I saw their black escalade's leave the desert, I turned my attention to the now bag free blonde whom was wearing Blaise's leather jacket.  
"What did they do." I softly whispered as I gently trailed the bruised left eye, and the horizontal scar over said eye. He didn't say anything as expected, instead he tied the jacket around his trimmed waist and collapsed into my embrace as I kissed the blood stain hair.  
Shit, it was almost like a classic western flick. But the dame in my arm, was a young man my age and the sun setting, it wasn't romantic as fuck. In fact, it only boiled the blood in veins as the yellow rays flirted with the dirt-encrusted blood that stuck to his flaxen hair like leaches on exposed skin.  
There is no honor among thieves, so I guess there is no mercy among the weak or glory for the army. In our case, we mercs, never bother with those sayings. We just look out for one another.

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**_AN:_**_ Well, it's oneshot. I'm sure you can all fill in the rest. Besides, I know nothing about England...except for it's history...and some parliamentary procedures..it is a parliament, right? As for the crap writing. I have no beta nor a brain. So, um.. adios!_

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